The Heart Lines on Your Hand
by RachelDalloway
Summary: Fifteen years after Titanic Rose finds herself face to face with Jack. There are only a few small problems, and calling it her "new life" doesn't even begin to describe it.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I know it's been awhile since I posted anything, but I've been incredibly busy and have had an unshakeable case of writer's block. **

_December 1927_

Her boots thudded wetly against the rain-slicked sidewalk. She stepped as lightly as she ever had, but even the well-practiced steps of a lady thud like a mill-hand's if she's wearing boots instead of satin shoes. Rose liked the heaviness of her boots. She preferred their thick thuds to the sharp clacks of heels. Walking was a comfort now and her boots a proof against flying away with her next step.

The day's rainstorm had thinned into a cold drizzle made worse by the wind. As she stopped on the corner Rose couldn't help but shiver. Her thin jacket was no protection against the still dropping temperature. Thunder cracked overhead. She glanced up, swearing under her breath. Her neck was wet already. Her curls, carefully wound around her head and pinned down, were soaked. She turned her jacket collar up and leaned against the nearest building.

She didn't have to wait long. Barely ten minutes had passed before the footsteps began. Faint at first, they quickly grew louder. Her jaw tensed. She reached into the holster wrapped around her hips and pulled out a gun. A second set of footsteps reached her ears as she disappeared into the shadows.

Thunder rumbled again, louder this time. A figure raced around the corner. Breathing heavily, he clutched his side. He turned to look back and a strangled scream escaped his throat. He stumbled forward on trembling legs, splashing through puddles. He collapsed at Rose's feet. She stepped over him, cocking her gun as she went.

A fresh thunder clap muffled the shots.

Rose gave a quick look around. All the windows were dark, but that meant nothing. In her experience, the windows were always dark and the curtains always drawn. Yet someone inevitably came forward claiming to have seen something. She would have worried more about that possibility if any witness had ever come close to accurately describing her. She dropped to her knees. "Are you alright?" she asked.

The man's eyes fluttered open. Even in the dim light she could see they were a brilliant blue. She clenched her jaw against the lump threatening to form in her throat. It was just a set of blue eyes, after all. She had seen hundreds of eyes just like them. "I—I'm alright," he said, struggling for breath. Rose's arm curled around him as he sat up. Wincing, he doubled over. "Don't move," she said briskly. "Your ribs are probably broken—or cracked at the very least. Don't touch them." He watched, torn between awe and confusion, as she carefully hauled him to his feet. "You should be able to walk," she said. "Though I doubt you'll be able to run." She eyed his still-trembling legs. "Unless you aren't simply cold and fatigued."

"Both of those are understatements," he said, cracking a smile. "I'd say I'm exhausted and about frozen." Rose's jaw tightened. She let go of him and stepped back. "Well," she said, "Either way I'm sure you can get home on your own." She turned on her heel and hurried away.

"Wait!" he called. He hobbled after her, his hands curled protectively around his ribs. Her brisk walk became a slow jog. She cursed herself with each step. The potential witnesses may have preferred to hide while things were going on, but the chances of this annoyingly persistent man sharing his experience with curious authorities were too high to ignore. No matter how blue his eyes.

Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself to keep up with her. "Hey, wait!" he called. A note of desperation crept into his voice. "Please?" His fingers brushed her shoulder. "Who are you?"

She brushed his touch aside. "That isn't important."

"Then tell me why you helped me."

"You needed help."

"Why was I being chased?"

She stopped short. "You don't know why?"

"At first I thought I did, but after that guy…." He shuddered at the memory. "I don't know what the hell just happened."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Rose said curtly, "No-one would believe you if you tried to tell them what you think happened tonight so why don't you just forget it?"

"How do I forget something like that?" he asked. She ignored him. "Wait," he pleaded, reaching for her arm. "Could you forget being chased by a demon and then seeing him shot by—" He was at a loss for words. "Whoever you are," he finished lamely. Rose stared at his hand on her arm. Her heart began to pound.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving closer. She stepped back to escape his touch. "I'm fine," she said slowly. "I'll be fine." His eyes narrowed; he tilted his head to one side, as if to study her more closely. Without thinking, she reached for her gun. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, never taking his eyes from her face. "It isn't likely that you could," she said.

Yet she was trembling when his fingertips touched her cheek. As if it sensed their presence, the streetlight above them chose that moment to begin working.

"Rose?"

_It can't be him. He was dead when you let go. You've had enough proof by now._"Leave me alone," she said shakily. He moved closer. "Rose." His voice was soft, almost a caress. "No, no, no," he said quickly. "Don't run away." Her grip tightened on her gun. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said again.

"Like I said, I doubt that you could."

"I wouldn't try. What are you doing here? With a _gun_?"

Her reply was out before she could stop it. "What? A first class girl can't carry a gun?" His mouth turned up slightly at the corners. It was the kind of joke she didn't make anymore; laughing by yourself, she had discovered, was worse than not laughing at all. Byron almost never laughed, unless it was at his own joke. When she made one he responded with a curious look and a slight smile. Sometimes she couldn't help but feel like a dog receiving a pat on the head. Of course, trying to explain that to him was as impossible as making him laugh. For all the progress they had made in their relationship over the past five years, making him understand his tendency to patronize people wasn't part of it. She suspected it was better that way; too much change, and she wouldn't recognize him anymore. After all, hadn't that happened to her already?

For a brief moment, it was just the two of them. He was Jack, and she was Rose. She forgot there were enough weapons hidden in her clothes to take down a small street gang. As his arms encircled her, she forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. She forgot when your lover is long dead holding him is an impossibility best not thought of. "I can't believe it's you," he said. Their bodies were pressed together; their faces were inches apart. "I don't believe it's you," she said. He was so close she could smell him. How many times had she tried to remember that scent? His lips brushed hers. "But it is," he insisted. "Who else could I be?"

"Not whom but what," she whispered.

"I don't understand."

"Best you don't….best you forget—" He caught her in a kiss before she could finish. A soft moan escaped her throat; she buried her hands in his hair. They clung to each other. A streak of lighting filled the sky with light. "Rose!" Jack cried, his eyes wide with fear. He collapsed in her arms.

…

"Rose? Is that you?" Byron leaned over the railing.

"Yes, it's me," she called. "Did you put out all the fires?" she added. "It's colder in here than it is outside."

"I kept the fire lit upstairs," he said. "Cassandra and Emily decided heating an empty part of the house was unnecessary." An irritated Rose appeared at the bottom of the stairs. It was at moments like this, when her hair was free and she had traded her boots for bare feet and her pants for a nightdress, when he found himself wondering _What if I…?_ He quickly pushed the thought away. _You know better than to think like that. _

"So, how did tonight go?" he asked brightly.

"It went." She swept past him on the stairs. "Is anyone else still up?"

"I'm afraid it's just me."

"Not waiting for me, were you?"

"Of course not. I had some work to do. I think I've figured out what we're dealing with. It's—"

She cut him off abruptly."Could we discuss it in the morning?"

He stared at her. "What? Discuss it in the morning? Well, I don't see why not…are you sure things went well tonight?"

She poured herself a drink. "They went," she said again. "I killed the demon, if that's what you're referring to. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

"Fine. I'll tell you everything in the morning."

Rose paused, the whole story on the tip of her tongue. How would he react? The better question however, was, did she care? He was her friend, her teammate—if that word could even begin to describe the work they did together. For five years they had faced every challenge together, sometimes even to the exclusion of the others, and that made it even harder to keep from telling him. _Jack's downstairs. He was the one it was after tonight. He's in my bed now, actually. After I saved him…_She opened her door slowly, hoping to avoid the usual chorus of squeaks. Jack lay on his side, his arms around her pillow. "He forgot who I am," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wake up," Rose said, giving Jack a gentle shake. He groaned. "Wake up," she said again, louder this time. His eyes fluttered open. "Sit up slowly," she ordered. "Or you might puncture a lung."

"What?" he asked blearily. He brushed his hands across the bandages wrapped around his middle. "When did I get those?"

"Last night," Rose said. "After you fell asleep. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, actually I am," he said. "What happened to my ribs?" She handed him a steaming cup. "You cracked two and broke one," she said. "You also have bruises on both knees and your back." She reached across him and retrieved a breakfast tray from the bedside table. "Here. Eat this."

"Who are you?" he asked between bites of toast. "And where am I?"

"You are in my house. I am your friend…for lack of a better word. I'm a bit surprised you hadn't asked that already."

"It's hard to be suspicious of beautiful women who offer me breakfast and bandage my injuries," he said, with a grin that made Rose's heart skip a beat. "I know I've seen you before," he added. "But I don't know where. We didn't meet last night, did we?"

"What do you remember about last night?"

"Not much," he admitted. "I was at this poker game—"

"Where?"

"I don't remember. I'd never been there before. I was invited by this guy—Carl, I think that's his name."

"What did he look like?"

"Why are you so interested?"

Her tone softened. "Because it's important," she said. Without thinking, she touched his hand. "Alright," he said, twisting his fingers around hers. "I'll try to remember more." She jumped back as his thumb began stroking her palm. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to—I just feel so close to you."

"No, it's alright. Just tell me what else you remember."

His eyes brightened. "I won," he said. "I remember that much."

Rose smiled slightly. "I'm not surprised."

"Am I a good player?"

"Don't you know?"

"I'm not sure. I think I am, but…" He shrugged. "I don't remember you, which is crazy because I feel so close to you. Do you know what I mean? Are we close?" Rose brushed imaginary toast crumbs off the bed. "We're friends," she said evenly. "We're—we're good friends. Since you've finished breakfast, I would imagine you'd like a bath." She stood up and moved toward the door. "The bathroom is through the door on your left," she said. "You'll find everything you might need in there. Leave your clothes on the bed, and I'll make sure they get washed. Don't worry about not having anything to wear. Fresh clothes will be waiting when you get out."

Once she was safely in the hallway Rose collapsed against the wall. "Damn it," she muttered through clenched teeth. Her hand still tingled where Jack had touched it. She pressed her lips to her palm. "Why doesn't he remember?" she wondered. It happened after the lightning struck; somehow, when the light disappeared, Jack's memory had gone with it. A spell of some sort was the most obvious answer. But why? And who would have done it? She was still muttering to herself as she dug through Byron's closet.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to borrow some things," she replied without turning around.

"You have clothes," he pointed out. "And I doubt mine will fit you."

"They aren't for me." She grabbed a pair of gray flannel pants. "Do you have a pair of boots?" she asked.

He leaned against the doorframe. "What do you think?"

"I think you should invest in a good pair of boots."

"So you can borrow them?" he asked with a hint of a smirk.

"No. So you won't complain about your shoes getting ruined next time you go on a case," she said, brushing past him. He followed her out the door. "Why do you need my clothes?" he pressed. "And how much did you take? You look like you have my entire fall wardrobe draped over your shoulder."

"Do you really still categorize your clothes by season?"

"Season, color, time of day, occasion—don't you?" He snapped his fingers. "Oh wait, I forgot. You only wear clothes from men's charity boxes." She shot him a glare. He ignored it. "Seriously Rose, would it be so terrible to make yourself look nice from time to time?"

"And what reason do I have to look nice?" she snapped.

"A reason might present itself," he said, feigning nonchalance. "You never can tell."

"If you're implying someone might take an interest in me, you may as well let go of the idea. I hate to disappoint you, but my mother was right about how I'll end up."

"You haven't died in the gutter yet—of syphilis, I'm assuming."

"She didn't specify the cause of my untimely and shameful death."

"No, but I believe syphilis would have been her cause of choice given the reason why your relationship ended as it did."

Rose's mouth thinned. "I'll see you at the meeting," she said.

She nearly slammed the bedroom door closed behind her. Angry tears stung her eyes. _What is wrong with me?_ Byron's comments hadn't bothered her in years; they were just part of life now. His attempts at turning their former relationship into darkly comic sparring matches were something she suspected he could never give up. No matter how good his intentions may have been, a part of him would always be an asshole.

Steam wafted through the open bathroom door, and the sound of Jack's loud and off-key singing brought her back to the situation at hand. She lay the clothes out on the bed and grabbed Jack's dirty ones.

"Hey."

Her head snapped up. A grinning Jack, clad only in a towel, stood in the bathroom doorway. "I scared you," he said, his grin fading. "I seem to do that a lot."

"No. You don't scare me." And yet her heart was already racing. _Was_ she afraid? _That's absurd. _She hunted down creatures other people shuddered to even think about. There was nothing even remotely frightening about an ordinary man, especially not a man like Jack. _But that's just it. He isn't just an ordinary man. He's Jack. _His tentative smile sent a pang through her. It wasn't him she was afraid of; it was how he made her feel. It was knowing that acting on her feelings was impossible, and yet, also knowing her ability to resist would eventually break.

"I laid some clothes out for you," she said. "I hope they fit. Choose anything you like. If you would, please stay in here for a little while longer. I'll explain why soon."

Jack nodded. "Sure. And thanks—for everything. I don't really understand what's going on, but...I trust you. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do."

"You should."

Their eyes met, and suddenly his stomach was filled with butterflies. "It's the strangest things," he said, "but I feel as if…"

"As if what?"

"I don't really remember," he lied. "I thought I did, but it's gone now."

…

Rose was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, when Cassandra and Emily burst in. Giggling, they didn't notice her at first. She glanced up at them out of the corner of her eye. "Have you seen Percy?"

They jumped away from each other at the sound of her voice. "He's on his way," Emily said. "He had to go see his sister before breakfast."

"He's here," announced a tall, thin man. His gray eyes shone like polished marble. He dropped into the chair opposite Rose. "I see I'm not late," he added. "Where's Byron? Still getting dressed?" Emily snorted and dropped into the nearest chair; Cassandra leaned against its arm. "I've never seen women so eager to mock decent grooming," Byron said, scowling.

"There's decent grooming," Rose said, "and then there's wasting time."

"I recall a time when you did a lot of time wasting," he muttered. "Would anyone care to know what I found out last night?" he added in his regular tone. "Or are we going to postpone it again?"

"What's annoyed you so early in the morning?" Cassandra asked.

"Perhaps," he said, shooting Rose a look, "it was discovering my closet had been ransacked while I was having breakfast. But, to the task at hand. Last night I stumbled across a very interesting anecdote about our newest demon friends." They all leaned in eagerly. "It seems," Byron explained, "this kind likes to trick people out of their souls."

Jack's voice rang in Rose's ears. _I was at at this poker game. _"What do you mean by trick?" she said.

"Swindle might be a better word," Byron replied. "They like to win the souls. There's always some kind of game or wager, and they always win, no matter how well the odds seem to favor the person."

"That explains why it was after him," Rose said, "but it doesn't explain the memory loss." The others exchanged glances. Emily spoke up first. "What memory loss?"

Byron rested his chin on his fingertips. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Jack being downstairs, would it?"


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thank you all for reviewing! **

Rose studied the grains in the floorboards. If she squinted just right she could make out a butterfly and the letter K. "Why don't the three of you go do some research?" she suggested calmly. She raised her eyes. "Percy, see if you can't find out if anyone named Carl, or possibly just with a "C" name, is handling the target recruiting. Cass, Emily, why don't you try and find a pattern with the victims we have so far. Maybe you'll see something new this time."

"Alright," Cassandra said. "But is the newest guy—"

"Mid-thirties," Rose said. "So he's in the same age range as the others. Jack Dawson. See what you can find out." Emily and Cassandra exchanged glances before nodding. Percy, his discomfort barely concealed, led the way out of the room.

"I can't believe you did that!" Rose hissed when the door closed behind them. "What the hell were you thinking? And how did you know-"

"What was I thinking? Just what the hell were _you _thinking?" Byron demanded. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What did you think would happen?" he went on. "No-one would ever notice he's here? I knew something strange was going on the moment I saw you stealing my clothes! I knew he was here because I found him in your room when I was looking for you."

"Borrowing," she snapped. "I was borrowing your clothes. I have every intention of returning them. What did you say to him?"

"Ah yes, borrowing versus stealing. Now, why does that sound so familiar?" he said silkily. She glared at him. "It wasn't smart bringing him back here," he added. "But don't worry. I was polite."

"What did you say?"

"Very little," he admitted. "I was too shocked." He shook his head. "Protecting him from the demon was one thing—that's what we do, but bringing him home with you? If he really won that game…"

Rose leaned against the table and breathed deeply. "Don't you think I know that?" she said. "He doesn't remember anything. He doesn't remember what happened last night or who I am. He doesn't even remember if he's a good card player. I couldn't just leave him wandering around."

"So, you would have brought him home, bandaged him up, and tucked him into your bed even if he wasn't your long lost lover?"

"Would you care so much about it if he was anyone else?" she retorted. Byron's dark eyes narrowed. "Someone has an inflated sense of her own importance," he said. "Or rather, her desirability. I wonder, have you considered the possibility that he's moved on with his life? Perhaps, unlike you, he hasn't been clinging to the memory of those few hours of passion."

Rose smiled. "There's the man I knew," she said icily. "I'd been wondering how long you could hide him." He took a step toward her. Her knife opened with a quiet _click_. For a moment, they just looked at each other. "What are we doing?" he asked. "We don't behave this way."

"Not anymore," Rose said. She studied her knife's blade. "I would have used it," she added.

"I know. Don't you think there's something unusual about that?"

"Unusual for us or unusual in general?" Rose shrugged wearily. "I'm not sure I can tell the difference between what's ordinary and what's not anymore. Everything that happens to us is unusual."

Byron's features softened. "Let's think about this rationally," he said. "We have a case that involves a new type of demon—"

"New to us."

"Fine. New to us. And we discover the area where at least one of these demons is operating. Which brings us to last night."

"Right," she agreed. "And the latest target just happened to be Jack."

"Should we be so sure that's a coincidence?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do we know he wasn't target for a reason?"

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying they wanted to use him to get to us?"

"Well, you, but if they succeed in distracting you, what's to stop them from finding out what will incapacitate all of us?"

"Jack does not incapacitate me," she said. "And we're the only two people left alive who know about—" _What he means to me. _"—what happened between us."

"He knows," Byron pointed out. "He could have told someone."

Rose shook her head. "That's absurd."

"Is it? A moment ago you were ready to stab me. I'm not sure you should just dismiss this idea," he said, a defensive edge in his voice.

"A moment ago," Rose countered, "you were ready to hit me. What does that tell us?"

…..

Jack was sitting in the middle of the bed using a book as a table when Rose came in. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him drawing. His hair threatened to fall over his eyes. The look on his face was one of pure concentration. "What are you drawing?" she asked finally. He looked up, a smile already forming. "I'm trying to draw what happened last night," he said.

"Have you had any luck?"

"Well—" He held the paper out to her. "Why don't you take a look?"

At first all Rose could focus on was how beautiful the drawing was. _He's gotten better. _The macabre scene it depicted soon overshadowed that. "And this is what you saw last night?" she said. He nodded. "I know that's crazy, but that _thing_, I know I saw it."

"How do you know? After all, you can't even remember who I am or whether you play cards well." She hoped her tone didn't sound as harsh to him as it did to her.

"You're right," he said. "And there are a lot of other things I can't remember. But there are a few things...I didn't have anything in mind when I started drawing. I just picked up a pencil and waited to see what would happen. I also used some paper I found in your drawer," he added, a light blush tinting his cheeks.

"Are you blushing?" Rose teased.

"Are you mocking me for it?"

"No. It's just of all the reasons to blush, I never would have imagined you blushing over taking a few sheets of my paper."

"Maybe I'm blushing because I looked through your drawer," he offered.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to go through other people's things?"

"With all due respect Miss, that's why I blushed."

Rose's mouth twitched. Before she could stop herself she threw back her head and laughed. "I'm sorry," she said. "Forgive me. I—" Her expression became serious again. "You don't know my name."

"It's Rose. That guy who was looking for you told me."

"Byron."

Jack looked confused. "That's not his name, is it?"

"That's what we call him. Why do you ask?"

"It's just…" Jack shook his head. "It's nothing. I just thought there was something familiar about him, but there's nothing familiar about that name. I'm probably just imagining things so I can say I remember something."

Rose sat down next to him. "What do you remember?" she asked gently. "About yourself, your life?" Jack thought for a moment. "I remember that I'm an artist," he said. "I remember…I'm not married. I can speak Italian and get by in French."

"That's good," she said brightly. "This means your memory isn't completely gone. Some parts are just missing."

"It's actually frustrating," he said. "I know I like blackberries, but I don't know who any of my friends are."

"It may be frustrating, but it's proof your memory can come back."

"You think so? Doesn't explain why I lost it though."

_Someone who didn't know what they were doing cursed you,_ she thought. What she said was, "I wish I could tell you what caused it. One moment you were fine, and the next you didn't even know where you were."

"Do I live here?"

Rose was taken aback. "What?"

"You brought me here last night. If I don't live here, why didn't you take me home? Or send me home now?"

Rose was at a loss for words. "You live here," she said. She could already hear Byron's incredulous response. _You told him he lives here? Have you completely taken leave of your senses? _Jack smiled hopefully. "With you?"

But that was a question Rose didn't even know how to begin to answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack walked slowly, his gaze wandering from the polished marble floors to the exquisitely carved fireplaces. The hallway that led from Rose's room ended in a large, open room. French doors led into a garden. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling. The furniture was beautiful, hand carved and covered in silk. To the left were a set of stairs. Paintings adorned the wall leading up the stairs. He studied each of them, but the sense of familiarity he hoped for never came. At the top of the stairs he found a hallway leading to the right, and a set of doors on the left. Moving closer, he saw the doors led into an office. His hand was poised to knock when he heard his name. He lowered his hand and leaned in closer.

"That doesn't explain the tension this morning," he heard a woman say. "If she just brought him back here to help him, why did Byron announce it at the meeting like he was revealing the secret to alchemy?"

A man replied, "Because he's jealous. It doesn't matter who it is; right now it just happens to be this Jack guy. Byron hates it when she's paying more attention to someone else."

"Percy's right," another female voice chimed in. "Haven't you noticed it?"

"No, I haven't noticed it," Emily said flatly. "There isn't anything to notice."

"Not jealous yourself, are you?" Percy teased. "No," Emily said, her eyes on Cassandra. "I'm not." Percy nodded, the significance of the gaze not lost on him. "Nevertheless," he said, "there is something going on, and Cass is right. Byron's not happy, Rose is distracted, and they think we don't notice."

"He's jealous," Cassandra insisted.

"Alright, we'll go with that," Emily said. "Maybe I even see it a little, but that still doesn't explain _why_—"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you what happens to people who listen at doors?" Byron asked softly. Jack stiffened; he turned around slowly, careful to keep his surprise hidden. "What happens to them?" he asked cheerfully. Byron's jaw tightened for a brief moment, as if he were holding something back. "They seldom hear anything good, especially about themselves," he said with a forced, polite laugh. Jack's blue eyes held his dark ones. "I doubt you could say I heard anything at all," Jack said. "At least, not that I can understand."

"Ah yes, the amnesia," Byron said thoughtfully. "You don't remember a thing, is that right?"

"Pretty much. Some things are familiar, but—" Jack shrugged. "—it's not really helpful." He moved past Byron and headed for the stairs. Frowning, Byron followed. "You know, Rose told us about what happened," he said, falling into step beside Jack. "We're trying to help you."

"I know," Jack replied. "You don't like me," he added.

There was a trace of irritation in Byron's voice. "Overhear that, did you?"

"I didn't have to. It's obvious."

Byron's frown deepened. "It isn't a matter of disliking. You aren't important enough for that."

"Clearly, I'm important enough to upset you," Jack pointed out.

"You haven't upset me. You've disturbed me—disturbed my home." What was perhaps most disturbing to Byron was that he couldn't figure out how it had happened. Jack was supposed to be in the country, tucked into some hovel with his paintings, and yet, here he was.

"This is my home too."

Byron laughed. "Is that what she told you? I'm not surprised. I'm sure she waited as long as she could before giving in," he added coldly.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What—" Rose's voice cut him off. "There you both are," she said. She was smiling, but the muscles around her mouth were tense. She was pale. Jack reached for her hand, concern shining in his eyes. Byron held in a scowl. "Are you alright?" he asked. She nodded. "I'm just tired," she said. She relaxed slightly when Jack's hand closed around hers. Byron pretended not to notice. "The others are waiting upstairs," he said.

"Good. I hope they found out something useful," Rose said.

…

The tension between Jack and Byron was obvious, though only Rose seemed not to notice. She leaned forward, her chin resting on one hand, the other hand in Jack's. It was difficult to tell whether she was on the edge of sleep or merely burrowing in a contented lethargy. Percy cleared his throat. "So, this is Jack," he began. "You know, you're the only one so far to survive these games. That's quite a feat."

"I'm not sure it's something to celebrate," Byron said. "They won't be pleased about his escape."

"He didn't just escape," Percy countered. "He won."

"Exactly," Byron said smoothly. "It's the ultimate humiliation." Rose lifted her head at his words. Their eyes met for a brief moment. She turned away, straightening her back. "You have a point," she said. "And that's why we have even less time to find out how to stop them."

"Well, Cass and I found out there's supposed to be another poker game," Emily said. "Tomorrow night," she went on. "St. Mark's, in the basement."

"Do you know who is to be involved?" Rose asked.

Cassandra shook her head. "We couldn't hear that without being seen."

"And there doesn't appear to be a reason why Jack was targeted," Percy said. "I've compared him to the others, and nothing about him is unusual. He fits the pattern."

"What is the pattern?" Jack asked. The others, startled by the sound of his voice, exchanged glances. "Single men," Emily began. "With few or no connections, the type—"

"Who won't be missed," Jack finished. Without thinking, he tightened his grip on Rose's hand. "I wouldn't be missed," he said. She resisted the urge to turn to him. He knew she had lied; how could he not? No sense confirming it in front of a room full of strangers.

"You don't have any family, at least not that I could find," Percy said slowly. "You aren't married, no children, no parents, siblings, no-one. You're also not very settled. You seem to have moved around from place to place pretty much your whole adult life. Unfortunately, while you may have close friends in many places, you don't have any who are likely to miss you, at least not for awhile. You aren't around often enough to be missed."

Jack nodded. "What else do you know about me?" he asked, unsure whether or not he wanted the answer. He felt Rose stiffen next to him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She stared straight ahead, her expression betraying nothing. For the first time he saw just how dark the circles under her eyes were. Perhaps it was the lighting, so much brighter than in her bedroom, or perhaps it was because he had been too caught up in how good it felt to be near her to notice. He slowly rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

"Well, there's not much else," Percy admitted. "You don't have a career or trade per se, but for the past few years you've taught art at a local high school."

"What are we doing about tomorrow's game?" Byron asked impatiently. If Jack wanted to get his memory back he could do it after the crisis at hand was taken care of; of course, it didn't matter to Byron whether he ever got it back. In fact, he mused, it might be best if he never did.

….

Clouds covered the gray sky. The trees in the garden were bare; the flowers were all gone. The fountain at its center was empty. Grass grew between the stones on the paths. Jack and Rose walked in silence, their hands clasped between them. "Jack—"

"Rose—"

They collapsed into nervous giggles. "You go first," she said.

"No, you."

"I'm sorry I lied to you," she said.

He looked into her eyes. "Why did you?"

She dropped his hand. "I didn't know what else to do," she said with a sigh. She leaned against the fountain, glad for the cold stone beneath her hands. "Suddenly, there you were," she went on. "After all these years, you were standing in front of me, just as if we'd never been apart." Her words came out in a rush. "But you can't remember me anymore, and you're being hunted." She spun around. "How can I keep you safe if you don't trust me? How was I to insure you trusted me—Oh, I know you said you did, but how long would that last if you knew the truth?"

"If I knew I'm a nobody that won't be missed?" Jack's shoulders slumped. "Oh Jack, no," she said, taking his hands. "You mustn't see it that way."

"Tell me how I should see it then."

"You are the most important person in the world to someone," she said. "You can't imagine the sacrifices that have been made because of you—to keep a promise to you."

"Tell me." He moved closer. "Rose, tell me what you know. The others, they're smart, but you—you know things you aren't telling them."

"If they knew they wouldn't help me protect you," she said softly.

"Do you have so little faith in them?"

"It isn't that simple. They see something is wrong between Byron and I. They know he doesn't want you here. My urging them to help protect you will seem like the urging of a lovesick fool, and there's nothing Byron would like more."

"Then he can't be worth trusting anyway," Jack said. "He isn't really your friend."

"Friend has never been the right word for what's between us," Rose replied. "It's more complex than that, and with you here it's only going to get more so."

"He's jealous."

"No. He hasn't thought of me in years."

"Maybe he doesn't realize it, but he is. Maybe he doesn't want you, but he doesn't want anyone else to have you either."

"And how do you know all of this?" she said. "You, who've barely said two words to him?"

"I can see it in his face."

She tilted her head up; her breathing quickened. She had lost all control of the situation, but she didn't care. Jack's arms were encircling her; another moment and he would be holding her. Wasn't that more important than anything else? _More important than not being remembered? _She pushed the thought away. Fifteen years of being alone, of fear and misery, denying herself all that she could bear to further the mission, losing her only chance for a life of simple happiness, the only other person she could have loved along with it and forging an alliance with the only person she had ever hated, and it had all brought her to this moment.

"What do you see in mine?"she whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I hope you all enjoy the update!**

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to resist; she was stronger than this. So then why couldn't she let go of him? Jack's hands moved up her back. He pressed her closer. "Rose," he whispered. Her breathing quickened. He was so close, so warm. His hair was like silk around her fingers. "We can't do this," she choked out. He cupped her face. "Why not?" he asked. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers. He smelled the same. She clenched her jaw, holding in a sigh. How long had she wanted him? He kissed her eagerly. A moan escaped her throat. "Jack!"

It took all her strength to pull away. "We can't do this," she said. "It's wrong." He leaned down so their foreheads touched. "Wrong?" he said. His hands trembled against her skin. "Why?"

"You don't remember me," she said. "You don't know how you feel about me or anyone else. If we—it will just make things more confusing."

"You know who I am," he said. "You know everything I don't." She tried to avoid his eyes. "Tell me?" he urged. She shook her head. "Telling you isn't the same as you remembering," she said. "It wouldn't be fair. How do you know I wouldn't just tell you what I want you to know?"

"You wouldn't do that," he said softly.

"Perhaps this is just a clever ruse to gain your trust," she argued.

"But you already have it."

Tears stung her eyes. "It isn't supposed to be like this," she said. "If you only knew—"

"Tell me," he insisted. "Rose, I know I trust you. I don't know why. It's crazy. I don't know you; I can't remember ever knowing you. But I feel right when I'm with you." He paused. "I want you," he added in a whisper. She slowly moved his hands away from her face. "Not like this," she said. "Not now."

"Alright," he said. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what?"

"Anything. Just tell me something I wouldn't know even if I had my memory."

"I have a scar on my shoulder," she said. "You've never seen it. I got it last year. I wasn't on a case, just a normal walk."

"What happened?"

"Let's walk while I tell you."

…..

Byron didn't look up from his book when they came in. He pretended not to hear their laughter or see their clasped hands. Jack pulled her closer. "Jack, no," she whispered through clenched teeth. "Ssshh," he said with a grin. He glanced at Byron out of the corner of his eye. The tension in his hands was obvious despite his nonchalant pose. Jack lightly kissed her. "No kisses," she said softly. "Remember?"

"That hardly counts as a kiss," he said, need shining in his eyes. Her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's for the best." Jack gave her hands a squeeze before releasing them. He didn't understand where his need to touch her was coming from, but he knew it went deeper than a mere desire for her. He was certain of that, even if he couldn't explain why. He resisted the urge to reach for her hand as they crossed the room. Byron eyed him over the top of his book. Jack just smiled. "You'll be glad to know Cassandra is making progress in the search for who bewitched you out of a memory," Byron said. "She and Emily went out to follow up on a lead."

Rose dropped onto the couch opposite him. Jack took the spot next to her. He wondered if she felt the same jolt of electricity where their knees touched. "What's the lead?" Rose asked.

"She didn't give many details, but it appears there is a low-level witch behind it," Byron explained. "She thinks Jack wasn't the target. You were."

A cold feeling settled in the pit of Rose's stomach. She nodded slowly, letting the meaning of his words sink in. "That means it's someone who knows about us, who would know where I was supposed to be that night. So we've been watched," she said, more to herself than anyone else. Jack studied her face and wondered if he should take her hand.

"Exactly," Byron said. "If she's right, that is."

"Do you think she's wrong?" Jack said. Byron's eyes widened for a moment. "No," he said smoothly. "I think she's right. It makes the most sense."

"But who could it be?" Rose wondered. "How could someone be watching us? There are enchantments on the house. It shouldn't even be visible to other people. This doesn't make sense." Jack laid his hand over hers. She smiled slightly, glad for his touch.

"I don't know what else could have happened," Byron said. Somberly, he added, "I don't like to think about what this could mean for us."

"I never imagined this could happen," Rose said. She let out a harsh laugh. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. After everything else that's happened…"

"_Rose!" _

"_Anne!" Her voice broke. "Anne, where are you?" _

"Rose?" She jumped, startled by the sound of Jack's voice. "What?" she said. He and Byron were studying her face. She turned from one to the other, willing herself not to blush under their scrutiny. "What?" she said again.

"You were, uh, staring at something," Jack said. "Something that's not there."

"You got lost in your head again," Byron offered. She refused to meet his eyes. "What were you thinking about, Rose?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing that matters. I'm going to get some air." Jack gave her a concerned look. "Do you want me to—" he began. "No," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Thank you, though." He smiled up at her.

A heavy silence settled over them once she was gone. They sat there, avoiding each other's gaze, wondering what to do next. Byron cleared his throat loudly. "You don't like me," Jack said.

"I hardly see why that matters."

"How can it not? You love Rose. Rose loves you—and me," Jack replied. Byron pursued his lips. "Tell you that, did she?" he said.

"She didn't have to. It's obvious."

"How is you can tell me all of that, but you don't know your own middle name?" Byron said drily. Jack shrugged. "I can see all of that. I don't see anything indicating what my middle name might be," he said cheerfully. "Though if I do, I'll let you know."

"Yes, I'm sure you will."

Neither of them wanted to remain in the room with the other, but neither wanted to be the first to leave. When the silence became too thick to bear, Jack spoke again. "That's not your real name, is it?"

"What business is it of yours? But no," Byron said, "it isn't. I changed my name. I decided," he continued thoughtfully, "it was necessary if I was to become a new person."

"How did that go?"

"It's gone well so far. It's true what Rose says about the effect of names. It's much easier to think of myself as someone else if I'm constantly being called something else."

"Sounds like you wanted to escape yourself," Jack said. Byron frowned. "I don't need a psychoanalysis," he snapped. Jack held his hands up. "Sorry," he said. "Just tellin you what I see."

Byron left without another word. His footsteps echoed through the empty house as he strode from room to room, too annoyed to stay still. It was absurd that he cared so much about something Jack said. Of all the people to let bother him—_Jack. _Of course, he reminded himself, he was only upset because Jack's presence was so unexpected. "If he'd remained where he belonged," Byron muttered, "None of this would be happening." He wouldn't have to see that smug, sanctimonious face around every corner. He wouldn't be questioning everything.

….

Rose slowly circled the garden. She breathed deeply and tried to clear her mind, but the images wouldn't stop coming. A lump formed in her throat. "Oh Anne," she said. "I'm sorry." She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Jack walked with his head down, hands in his pockets. The lump grew. Who would have ever thought she would see him again? The urge to run into his arms was almost overwhelming. She closed her eyes, and Anne's face was all she could see. _How could I have stopped thinking about her? _Had she stopped thinking about Jack too? _I stopped thinking about either of them,_, she realized with a pang of guilt. _I forgot them. _It was easier to forget, easier to throw herself into her work. Never mind they were the two people she had loved most.

"I'm not following you," Jack said. "I promise." His smiled faded. "Rose, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for her. "I'm fine," she said. He took her face in his hands. "You're crying," he said. He gently wiped a tear from her cheek.

She tried to laugh. "Am I?" she said. "It must be something in the air." '

He pressed his forehead to hers. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said. "But you can." The look in his eyes melted her resolve. She collapsed into his arms. "Ssshh," he said. He rubbed her back. "It's okay, Rose. Whatever it is, it's gonna be alright."

"You don't know that," she insisted. He cupped her cheek. Tilting her face up, he said, "I know I love you." He kissed her forehead. "And since I'm with you, I just have to trust things will be alright." Rose laid her head on his chest. He hugged her tightly. "Don't leave me again, Jack," she whispered. "I can handle whatever's coming, as long as my heart doesn't break again."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I apologize for the delay, but I hope this chapter is worth it!**

"We've waited long enough. Nothing's going to happen," Cassandra said. Emily ignored her; she kept her eyes fixed on the sidewalk below. "C'mon, my hands are numb," Cassandra grumbled. "We're just wasting time. We could be chasing down this witch."

"We are," Emily said calmly.

"No, dear, we're standing on a rooftop. Only we aren't standing, we're crouching because you're afraid we'll be seen."

"We very well might be seen," Emily replied. "And even if we aren't, we'll be heard if you keep complaining like that. Haven't you ever been fishing?"

"I'm not sure how fishing comes into this."

"You have to be quiet and patient when you fish," Emily explained. "And you have to be quiet and patient when you wait for a minion."

Cassandra sighed. She lay down on her stomach, resting her hands on her palms. The concrete was cold beneath her thin shirt, but it was a small trade to make her legs stop screaming. If Emily was uncomfortable she didn't show it. The wind played with her dark hair. Cassandra sighed, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the soft locks. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from Emily's face.

The sidewalk was empty save for a few shards of broken glass. The handful of people who had walked by since their arrival had done so quickly. They looked straight ahead, collars turned up against the wind. It was an ordinary day on an unpopular side street in a bad neighborhood. Cassandra was sure whoever cursed Jack had no intention of returning; what could be gained by such a move?

Her eyes were just beginning to close when she heard Emily gasp. She pulled herself up. "What is—" Emily clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting her off. Her grey eyes flashed. _Stay quiet. _Cassandra followed her companion's tapered finger as it pointed to the scene below. Her eyes widened. Emily just nodded.

The two men looked human, but that didn't mean anything. Emily opened her fist just in time to see the pink crystal pendant begin to flash. She closed it again quickly; her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she handed Cassandra the pendant. Emily reached into her coat pocket and felt for her knife as the men, for lack of a better word, began to speak.

"Where did you leave it?" the taller of the two barked. The shorter, whose hair was light and wispy, looked around, obviously confused. "Well?" the taller man, Maurice, demanded, his eyes glittering a sickening green.

"I don't know," Gaston, the other said. "It should've been right here. I put it in the streetlight. The bulb was supposed to break when she got under it, releasing the spell—"

"Is it still up there?"

"No, it would've fallen out. The force of the bulb exploding would've—"

Maurice's frown deepened. "So, it could be anywhere. Is that what you're telling me? You're saying you left a hex bag just lying out for anyone to stumble upon?" He took a menacing step forward. "Do you have any idea what will happen if—"

"It probably washed away in the storm," Gaston interrupted. He drew himself up to his full height; his eyes began to take on an orange glow. "There's no need to get angry," he added, a hiss at the end of his words. "It doesn't matter anyway. The spell worked. She can't remember a thing. She won't be able to lead them back here. It was foolish of Mirielle to send us."

"It isn't for you to question," Gaston said, the hiss more pronounced this time. Maurice glared down at him; his shoulders tightened. "It would be nothing to kill you," Maurice said. Gaston laughed. "You're right," he said. "You are nothing."

Emily and Cassandra sat, frozen, long after they were gone. Finally, Cassandra reached out and brushed Emily's hair back from her face. "I never expected to see them in person," Emily said. "I've heard so many stories about them, but I never thought I'd get to tell one. We're just lucky they didn't realize we were up here." 

"They couldn't have seen us," Cassandra pointed out.

"They could have smelled us."

Cassandra tossed her head, hoping her usual confidence would return as easily as the gesture. It didn't. She chose to pretend otherwise. "C'mon," she said, standing up. "Let's see if Gaston was right."

…

Rose carefully turned over the tattered remains of the bag. The dark green cloth was heavier than it appeared; it scratched her fingers. The strings that were meant to close it were black and oily. She flicked them aside with the tips of her nails. Her hand was steady as she lifted up a lock of her own hair. "You're certain there weren't any more?" she asked.

Cassandra nodded. "We are," Emily said. "We even did a trace to check for any other spells in the area. All we found were the usual low level things; people pouring herbs into bowls and trying to be witches."

Holding back a grimace, Rose laid the hair aside. "And you're certain it was them?" She sifted through the ground herbs with her fingertip. The smell was overwhelming, but it wasn't the worst she had encountered. "Yes," Cassandra said. "It was them. It couldn't have been anyone else."

Rose shook the remaining contents of the bag onto the table. More dust, a small, white button, and a golden clasp, as if for a necklace, fell out. "I don't understand how it hit him and not me," she said. "They used my hair."

"What about the button?" Percy asked. "Could that be his?"

Byron studied Rose's face. A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes as she picked up the button. "No," she said softly. "No, this is mine."

"And the clasp?" Percy asked quietly. Rose didn't hear him. She turned the clasp over in her hands slowly, studying it. Byron's chair scraped across the floor as he stood up. The others eyed him curiously as he began wielding the fire poker like a sword against the flames. The air around them grew thicker. Emily moved closer to Cassandra, who was too distracted by the sudden tension to notice. Percy cleared his throat. "Yes, well, perhaps this isn't a typical spell. Or perhaps something just went wrong with it. You said yourself Jack's memory loss isn't complete. It sounds as though he either wasn't supposed to forget everything, or the spell didn't work the way it was meant to."

"I think you're right," Rose said. "Something is wrong. This isn't a typical case."

"Speaking of our guest, where is he?" Byron asked, shooting Rose a look. She met his eyes. "He's downstairs," she said. "In my room."

Byron's smile didn't hide the irritation in his voice. "Of course," he said. "I should have known."

…...

Rose leaned back on her heels, hands on the trunk lid. She took a deep, dust-filled breath. What she suspected was impossible, and yet it seemed to be the only explanation. The lock lay on the floor by her feet. Although covered in the same film of dust as everything else in the attic, it was just as sturdy as the day she first put it on. The creaking lid echoed loudly in the silence. Gently, Rose lifted a bundle wrapped in tissue paper.

She held her breath as the dress unfolded in her hands. Once it had been thought dull, but now, among the cobwebbed, disintegrating relics, it seemed obscenely bright. It still smelled of saltwater. Holding it was like holding a handful of ice. Without realizing, Rose shivered. She flipped the dress over, overwhelmed by the urge to be anywhere but the attic. It only took a moment to locate what she was looking for. The button from the bag matched the buttons on the dress perfectly, but then again, hadn't she known it would?

The spell broken, she moved quickly, pulling the coat from the trunk without a second thought. Barely noticing the thick scent of salt water, she reached into a pocket and drew out the still-glittering Heart of the Ocean. As expected, the clasp was missing.

…

Byron was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she emerged. She threw her head back and pretended not to see him. "You still have it, don't you?" he said when she reached the bottom. She swept past him. "You've had it the whole time," he said, following on her heels. Accusation thickened his voice. "You've just been keeping it hidden up there."

"So what if I have," she said coolly. "It isn't any business of yours. I can do what I want with my things."

"You've just been hiding it," he said, his voice rising. "Just letting it rot in a drawer."

"Diamonds don't rot," she said. She paused at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor. "What are you really upset about?" she asked. "Are you upset because I've had it all along and didn't tell you? Or are you upset because it links me more to Jack than to you?"

Byron's mouth twitched. His eyes took on a familiar cold gleam. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said. "You'd enjoy seeing us fight over you again." Rose's expression hardened. "You made it a fight," she said. "Your need to win, to control everything—_you_ made it a fight."

"You threw the first blow with that drawing," he said, brushing past her. "Did you really think you could just away with that?" he asked over his shoulder. "Your opening shot just happens to reflect your choice of lovers."

Rose grabbed the railing to steady her hands. Anger welled up inside her. "All I wanted was to be free of you," she hissed.

They both turned at the sound of a door opening. Percy stepped into the hallway, books under his arm. He couldn't help but notice Rose's trembling hands and Byron's cold gaze. "I was just heading downstairs," he said with forced cheerfulness. "It's almost dinner time." Rose acknowledged him with a nod. Byron stepped aside to let him pass but didn't look at him. When he was gone, Rose said, "Perhaps this can't work after all."

"I don't know what you mean."

She sighed. "Yes, you do."

Byron took a step toward her. "You're saying that because of _him._" He spat the word. "This is worked for five years. Five years, Rose, _five years_ we've spent at each other's side, and now you think something's wrong?" Disgust filled his voice. "After a day with—with a man who can't even remember your name?" She recoiled when he reached for her hand. "Does he really blind you so much?" he asked softly. "Even after all this time you can't see anything else."

"I see everything," she said. "I see the way you've been acting since you found out he was here, the way you've changed. It's _you_ who can't see anything else."

"I see what a weakness he is for you. I see how easily you can be exploited where he is concerned," he said. She ignored him and hurried down the stairs. "And if I see it you can be sure they will," he called after her.

Byron slammed the door to his study, not caring if anyone heard. The windows rattled in their frames. He rested his hands on the desk and focused on steadying his breathing. Being so angry was a waste of energy. What she said didn't matter. If she wanted to run into those spindly arms and pretend she was still the same woman—if she wanted to throw away their work together to fulfill the poor fancy of her youth—well, then there just wasn't anything he could do about that.

It would have been different, perhaps, if he were in love with her, but of course, he reminded himself, he wasn't.

…

Rose's heart pounded as she closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, letting her forehead rest against the smooth wood. How dare he make such insinuations! Who did he think he was? _As if I had any interest in stirring up—as if it isn't best left buried in the past. _He changed his name to bury the past; those had been his words to her when he did it.

"It isn't necessary," she said. He shook his head. "It is," he insisted. The flames from the burning house lit up his face. Blood threatened to drip from his once-immaculate hair. "If I carry the name with me, what's the point of our burning my old life?"

"Rose?" Jack's voice brought her back to the present. She turned to see him watching her with concern-filled eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. He brushed her curls away from her face. "You're pale," he said, moving closer. "I'll be fine," she said firmly. "Don't worry, Jack." She wanted to move, but his eyes kept her frozen. He studied her face for clues, searching for the truth. The love in his gaze was deep, though unbidden and not understood by him. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. At that moment, all she wanted was to rest her head above his heart and let its beating sing her to sleep. It would be warm in his arms. He wanted it as much as she did.


End file.
